About the Book:
A troubled neighbor gives William a bag of drugs and, aware that he never puts himself first, William decides to take on a one-time role as the school's drug dealer. But things quickly spiral out of control, and when his desire to impress friends with drug use goes too far, William's life comes to an end-but his lessons on life are just beginning.
William must watch as his friends and family continue to navigate life without him, making choices... both good and bad. But can William inspire his friends to open the right boxes and follow the right life path?
Read an Excerpt from The Hope Grid
I continued up the sidewalk when a woman caught my eye. I hadn’t noticed her before, but she was standing at the fence, watching me. Her hair was long, braided down her back and a heavy sweater was wrapped around her shoulders and arms. Her smile revealed a few missing teeth, but her eyes were green and warm; her face was round and full of color. She pointed her finger at me then beckoned me closer. I hesitated, figuring she was a friend of Carol’s and probably had some interesting backstory that led to John and Carol’s most recent police encounter. I walked closer, reluctant. She held my attention, just by her sheer appearance, but she was startling to look at. She was unique, even down to the jewelry she wore, which was something I had never seen before. Large stones and crystals draped around her neck and she smelled like smoke mixed with lavender. I waited for her to speak. She glared into my face and I watched her eyes roll backward into her head. The whites of them became prevalent and I could no longer see her pupils. My eyes widened. Something strange was happening.
“Do you believe in magic?” she asked. Her voice was crisp, but her tone was much different than what I expected. Her voice was feminine, even though she appeared rugged and abused, as if some sort of hard life had befallen her. I think the confusion on my face forced her to continue.
“You’re too busy to believe in magic, aren’t you?” I was still confused, but nodded.
“Carol and John, they make bad decisions for themselves.” I laughed.
“That’s an understatement.”
“Yes, it is.” The woman gestured toward the police car.
“It’s like a game of chess,” she started.
“If you make the wrong move, the game can be over.” I narrowed my eyes onto her face. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but she had my attention.
“You know, Will, we all have choices to make in this lifetime. Each choice you make can unlock a piece of the grid and can either elevate you to the next level or it can hinder you and keep you back.”
“How did you know my name?” I asked. “There’s danger in your life, Will. You need to pay attention. You need to make sure you unlock the proper boxes and move forward, or you may be putting your life at risk.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. She wasn’t making any sense.
“Your mother too. Her grid is congested.” I was getting irritated.
“What the fuck is a grid?”
“A grid is your life path. When you unlock certain pieces or boxes of your grid, you expose new and exciting elements to your life. Boxes can unlock when you make good choices for yourself, and through positivity, you can expand and grow as a person. The same is the opposite when you make poor choices for yourself: The boxes can close.”
About the Author:
At least, I had never known I was a writer.
It all started five years ago, long after the death of my mother. I suppose that I had always been creative, but I liked numbers more than anything.
Years after my mother passed, I sat down with my computer and opened a blank document. I felt like I was forgetting her, that her memories were becoming blurry and lost. I started writing my thoughts, mostly to preserve the emotions that I valued—the stories, the life events, the love I had for her—as best as I could because I wasn't a writer, so I thought.
That year changed me. I had written two novels and my life suddenly became fulfilled in some way.
I was never alone when I wrote; I could always feel a presence, the energy unmistakable. My whole life I trusted my instincts and had mildly acknowledged that my intuition was strong. I believed in spirits, energy, and “the signs” and felt overwhelmed by the level of peace and understanding that I received from them.
Writing healed me in a way that was unexpected.
I call myself an intuitive writer. Somehow, I write stories with unseen intention, but the purposes revealed are so significant to my life that it is without a doubt a gift to me.
I began writing The Hope Grid, knowing I had no idea how to do so. I knew the words would come through me—they always do—but I couldn't imagine what the story would be. It was a complicated subject, one I hoped to simplify respectfully and with integrity.
My brother's death, the whole thing was a tragic mistake. He never meant to die.
I’ll never forget the morning I saw his face in the mirror. I was startled as I stared at myself, shaking my head. “God! I look just like
Tommy.” Days later, after the initial shock of his death had started to wear, I realized that it was him in the mirror. His image came to me,
and that was the last image I had of him, staring back at me.
I wrote this story, knowing that the messages and gifts from this book were significant.
My goal was to give purpose and meaning to the life of a peculiar boy whose humor I hoped to capture, whose wit and smile resembled mine in many ways. He was here to help me; his hand graced mine as we wrote, and together we pass along the lessons of his life in hopes that it will help and heal others.
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